


The Dark Place

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Wincest - Freeform, Wincest Reverse Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: Mary gives Sam & Dean a hunting assignment - zombies. It seems simple enough but soon they discover that there is something much more sinister going on, and they find themselves in a very dark place.





	The Dark Place

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for 'A Dark Place'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058330) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite). 



> A/N  
> Thanks to my wonderful artist [Stormbrite](http://stormbrite.livejournal.com) \- such an inspiring piece of art. Go and give her huge kudos [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11058330).

Sunday to most _normal_ people is a day of rest and relaxation. A day for a walk in the park perhaps, or a nice meal in a classy restaurant. For the Winchesters however, Sunday is just another day; a 6.30am alarm call and a cup of bitter coffee to kick start the morning.

 

Sam sat at the table rubbing his eyes. Dean noted that they looked sore but not shadowed which, to his relief, meant his brother was sleeping and not lying awake feeling guilty about something. Since the incident with the Darkness the brothers had been on the same page, and arguments were few and far between. Most disagreements these days were minor ones; whose turn was it to go to the store? What should they eat for breakfast? Was Chuck Norris really better than Jackie Chan? Sure things weren’t peachy, they never were, but at least they had made their peace with each other, and that was something to cherish. (Not that Dean was sappy enough to use those very words, you understand).

 

“Bacon?” He sat down opposite his brother and stretched out his legs. It was warm down here near the kitchen, and one of their favorite spots. With Castiel out on the road with Crowley, and mom off doing something or other with the British Men of Letters, Sam and Dean had had the bunker to themselves a lot recently. Sure, they had been out on hunts but it was nice to come back to a familiar place, a place that Dean had learned to call home (even if he was unsure about Sam’s feelings about it). 

 

“Too early for bacon.” Sam screwed up his face and took another swallow of coffee. “Maybe some toast.”

 

“Sure, whatever.” Dean got to his feet and padded across to where the ancient old toaster stood. The battered object still wore the crumbs of the previous morning, but Dean ignored that fact and started to hunt for the bread. Behind him he heard the click of Sam’s laptop, the familiar bright ‘wake up’ tone as it hummed into life. He could already guess Sam’s plan . . . look to see if anything regarding Kelly Kline had surfaced, check his emails, and search the net for cases. These days his brother was nothing if not predictable, and Dean was thankful for it.

 

Things might not be calmer; the antichrist’s birth was imminent and there was Billie’s death and the repercussions that might bring. There were the after effects of their capture, and lengthy incarceration, and there was the little fact of their mom being back from the dead. They had survived worse – a lot worse, and Dean couldn’t help but enjoy this odd tranquility even though he knew it wouldn’t last.

 

He sighed and put the coffee pot back on the stove. While it bubbled away he placed two slices of thick bread into the toaster and hunted down some peanut butter and sweet sickly jelly. He knew Sam would protest but he figured his brother could handle a few extra calories. Sam was built, but since their little stint in jail he was looking long and lanky again and Dean wanted to see some meat back on those bones.

 

“There you go.” He slapped down the plate of toast forcing Sam to peer over the top of his laptop. “Stop for a minute and eat your breakfast.”

 

Sam lowered the lid with an audible sigh and peered at the toast with some disdain.

 

“How much jelly?” He asked as he ran his finger across one of the slices. “It looks like a vamp kill.”

 

“Just eat it, Sammy.” Dean knew he was being annoying but that made him even more content. He liked being the bossy, infuriating big brother; it gave him purpose, something to go on for.

Sam stared at it for a minute longer and then picked up a slice and bit into it. Dean masked his smile with a cough as he watched the expression on his brother’s face morph from _bitch_ to _this is delicious_. A few bites down the line and the toast was nothing but scraps on a plate and, even then, Sam seemed to be trying to pick up every morsel, his mouth smeared with red, a flush of pink across his high boned cheeks.

 

“Thanks.” Speckled hazel eyes met his. “That was . . . .”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Dean sat back down and tucked into his own breakfast. He’d gone for full on fat, in the shape of fried bacon and two sunny-side up eggs. Sam was silent for a moment, dimples gracing his cheeks, then he wiped his fingers on the thigh of his jeans and opened up his laptop to continue his search.

 

Halfway through his second cup of coffee Dean’s cell trilled into life; he picked up and was, stupidly, relieved to see his mom’s number in the caller ID. Even as he put it to his ear his stomach clenched and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face when he heard his mom’s soft tone which was oddly maternal despite the years that had passed. Sometimes, he could imagine she was still talking to her four year old toddler rather than her grown up son.

 

“Hey mom.” He gave Sam the thumbs up from across the table. “How are ya?”

 

“I’m fine, Dean,” she sounded strangely close. “But I have a case for you if you’re interested. It could be zombies,” she chuckled. “So my thoughts went to you immediately.”

 

“Zombies? Awesome!” Dean was nodding, his mind going to what they would need for the hunt; shotguns, bullets, and long knives. Sam watched him with a sparkle of fond amusement in his eyes.

 

“I’ll stop looking for cases then,” he said with a grin.

 

Dean got as many details as he could out of his mom, and made her promise to come and visit them soon before putting down his cell. The distant thrum of contentment had become a full on roar and he couldn’t stop smiling as he made his way to the shower, already planning how long it would take them to pack and get on the road.

 

*****

 

“This looks like something out of a Del Toro movie.” Sam gazed up at the gothic looking mansion with a shudder. “Creepy.”

 

“Yeah, it is a bit cliché.” Dean checked the co-ordinates his mom had given him for the hundredth time. 

 

“And mom reckons there is some sort of _zombie_ infestation inside?” Sam checked his pack for weapons. “What intel did she actually give you, Dean?”

 

“Apparently the building is owned by a local businessman who is known for having a Citizen Kane complex.” He took in Sam’s astonished expression. “What? I watch classic movies too. Anyway, he built this place in the style of some sort of renaissance architect, lived here for a while, and then abandoned it. After that all manner of rumors sprung up about the place. Local teenager’s came-a-calling, as they do, and reports tell us that not all of them came out alive. There were a ton of unsolved murders, and oddly desecrated corpses. Some of the kids claimed to have seen their missing friends wandering around the building.”

 

“Sounds more like restless spirits than zombies.” Sam completed his weapons check and started on his equipment. He tucked away his EMF meter just in case.

 

“Yeah, but there were no other signs of ghost activity. There were no flickering lights, no cold spots, nothing. So it could be reanimated corpses,” Dean chuckled. “Perhaps there is a mad scientist holed up in there. You know, doin’ whatever mad scientists do.”

 

“Perhaps.” Sam shook his head fondly. He couldn’t help but love his brother even more when he was like this. Excited, joyful, and unfettered. Things hadn’t always been easy, if ever, but seeing Dean happy made Sam happy too.

 

“You gotta’ go with the flow, Sammy.” Dean squeezed his shoulder with a warm grin. “Zombies! Come on, man, what could be better?”

 

“An empty building with no danger inside!” Sam’s heart gave a little tug at the touch of Dean’s hand. A surge of affection that made him feel almost weak. 

 

“Sammy.” Dean clutched at his own heart. “Your lack of enthusiasm wounds me.”

 

“Let’s go and see then, Dean.” Sam shook the flashlight against his hand and watched it flicker in and out.

 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded and responded. 

 

****

 

Inside the _mansion_ was pitch black, and it smelt weird; a mix of old lavender and mold mingling. Sam shuddered and turned on his flashlight and beside him Dean did the same. Beams of wavering silver light lit up the path before them, illuminating an ornate patterned carpet worn with age. Mud and dead leaves marred the green and gold of the pattern, alongside smears of red staining it. The dark, dirty red of blood.

 

The atmosphere was cloying; an instant change of mood. The light-heartedness which had spurred them on faded, and Sam felt a heavy weight in his stomach, the heavy feeling of nausea making his throat close. Dean moved forward and pointed his flashlight towards the walls. The paper there had been mostly ripped off to reveal the original plaster. There were red and brown hand-prints against the off-white walls and some odd looking sigils. Sam took a deep breath and coughed hard, beside him he heard Dean retch.

 

“We should get out of here,” Sam’s voice echoed across the space and bounced off the walls. “There’s something wrong, Dean.”

 

He wasn’t expecting Dean to acquiesce so quickly but his brother nodded almost instantly turning back to the door. For a moment time seemed to stand still, and then there was an ear splintering crack as the worn oak door slammed shut.

 

“Fuck!” Dean surged forward and began to pull at the handle. The lock rattled and creaked but didn’t move. Dean’s breathing quickened, the obvious panic coloring his actions. “Fuck, fuck.”

 

They had faced some pretty evil things in their time; the Darkness, Lucifer, Leviathans, and old Yellow-eyes so being trapped in a clichéd old house shouldn’t affect them like this, but it did. The smell was stronger now, almost overwhelming and Sam fought back the urge to vomit as he pulled at Dean’s arm wanting to hide behind his brother like a small child.

 

“We should go into one of the rooms,” it seemed to make sense to him to say that. “Find a window and get out that way.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean shook himself like a dog, eyes wide in the luminous glow of the flashlight. 

 

They stumbled back down the corridor until they came to two doors. Sam bit his lip hard suddenly unable to make a decision. Behind them the corridor loomed large and dark as if it was going to swallow them both whole. His legs felt weak and he leaned hard against Dean, feeling his brother’s arm link around his waist to hold him, pulling him closer than normal, close enough for him to feel Dean’s body hard behind him. Close enough to feel the hard pounding of Dean’s heart against his shoulder.

 

“Shit,” Dean hissed. “This isn’t right, Sam. Something isn’t right.”

 

Sam agreed but his tongue refused to work. He turned to his left for no other reason than it was the way his body went. Shaking fingers closed around the hard metal of the door knob and he turned it, the door creaking open.

 

The room was huge, seemingly endless, the floor carpeted in the same hideous pattern as the hall, and the walls coated in thick black paint. There didn’t seem to be any furniture inside, but worse than that there didn’t appear to be a window either. Dean’s breath caught and Sam felt the arm around his middle tighten so hard it was almost painful.

 

“What the fuck, Sammy?” Was all his brother had time to say before the door behind them whooshed shut and, to Sam’s horror, his flashlight went out.

 

****

 

_“Now we’ll see how they really cope.” Long fingers reached out and flicked on the switch. The two brothers were lit up on the screen in eerie green, night vision, and their eyes bright in luminously pale faces. “The younger boy looks frightened already,” a voice clipped and business-like said. “That’s not a good sign.”_

_“The drug is already in their system,” another voice, this time lower, feminine. “So, it is only to be expected.”_

_“I want them challenged, not hobbled,” anger tinged the man’s tone. “You are too free and easy with your drugs and spells.”_

_“I’ll air the room a little to get rid of the gas,” the female voice sounded contrite. “We need to observe them closely to see if everything that has been said is true.”_

_“I have it from excellent sources . . . .”_

_“Good, then let us watch closely. Then we’ll see just how good these Winchester’s really are.”_

 

****

 

It was as black as pitch and cloying; Sam swallowed hard and pressed himself back against his brother. Dean’s solid presence was the only thing that was grounding him. His heart was thundering and he was sure that Dean would be able to hear it. His insides churned, and he could feel panic building, his breath coming in fast heaving pants.

 

“Sammy.” Dean’s hand was on his belly again, the warm press of it oddly comforting. “Breathe man, just breathe.”

 

He did what he was told; obeying his big brother like he always did. The smell that had been so cloying earlier seemed to abate and he found he was able to take fresher, deeper breaths into his lungs. His heartbeat steadying.

 

“I can’t see anything, Dean.” Sam rattled his flashlight trying not to panic. “It is so fucking dark in here.”

 

“It’s okay.” Dean was so close, his voice a whisper of warmth against the shell of Sam’s ear. “Sammy, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” 

 

Sam closed his eyes and opened them again; the darkness was thick, overwhelming. The walls had been black, he’d seen that much, and there were no windows in this place. No source of light. They had been close to the door when the flashlights stopped working, so that was their only option.

 

“Do you have your lighter?” A vague hope sprung up in his chest; his mind clearing.

 

“Yeah,” Dean sounded relieved. The hand moved from his stomach for a moment and he heard a rustling sound as Dean fumbled in his pocket. For a moment there was silence and then a click and the sudden rush of light. “Thank fuck,” Dean’s voice was still close and the hand not holding the lighter came round and rested on his belly again. The lighter didn’t give them much to work with, but at least they could see each other for a moment; pale faces wavering in and out of the faint, orange flame.

 

“Hold on.” Sam tugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, lost in the enveloping blackness below. He pulled at his shirt and got one arm out of the sleeve. Goosebumps prickled on his skin for a moment and he huffed as he tried to find his knife.

 

“As much as I admire your body Sammy, this is not the time or place,” Dean’s voice was laced with amusement, a much needed balm. Sam swallowed down hysteria and shook his head causing the feeble light to flicker and dip.

 

“I’m trying to help us, jerk.”

 

“Yeah? By stripping? How does that help, bitch?”

 

Sam took his knife and carefully cut through the sleeve of his shirt. A scrap of cotton came away and he handed it to Dean.

 

“Light this,” he said. “It won’t last for long but it’ll give us some time.”

 

“Good thinking, Samuel.” Dean gave his nipple an unexpected tweak and he hissed, an odd feeling, something that wasn’t fear or panic zipped through his body.

 

“Don’t do that, idiot.” Sam tugged what was left of his shirt back on and bent down to fumble for his jacket. Above him he heard Dean curse once, and then the light became fiercer, brighter, heat searing his neck. He grabbed his jacket and put it on watching as Dean held the flaming material away from himself, light flooding every corner.

 

“We better think quickly cos I’m gonna end up setting myself on fire.”

 

“We could try the door, maybe pick the lock.” He didn’t have any real ideas, all he knew is that he didn’t want to be in this place. He didn’t want the dark to come back and swallow them.

 

“It’s a start, yeah,” Dean’s voice shook a little, giving him away. “Yeah, we’ll try that.

 

“We’ll get out,” Sam said, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Dean or himself. 

 

“I know,” and there he was, trying to sound brave and convinced, comfort for his little brother. 

 

****

 

_“Clever,” the man’s voice was tinged with what could be construed as pride. “I told you we were being too heavy on the gas.” He leaned forward to click at the machine. An image of the two figures flickered instantly into life, heat seeking this time, a wavering orange. He moved his hand around the console so that he had both the green and orange images, one on top of the other. The older man had a flaming piece of shirt in one hand whilst his brother was moving fast towards the door, a small piece of equipment clutched in his hand. “Ah, the lock-pick,” he said and smiled. “Won’t be too effective, as there is no lock.”_

_“This is hardly much of a test,” the woman was angry. “I want to see them crack. I want to prove to everyone they are not the men they think they are.”_

_“But they are,” her companion sounded smooth, silky. “They are clever, brave and resourceful. They have taken on some of the world’s . . . hell the universe’s biggest evils, and come out on top. You cannot deny . . . .” A silence and he glanced across at her face; impassive and cold. “You don’t want them to succeed, do you? You want to see them fail and perhaps, watch them die.”_

_“I want them reduced to their basest level.” She leaned forward to move the control lever upwards. “To see what they do then.”_

_“Yes, I was right,” her companion said and bit back a sigh, giving in; it seemed to the inevitable. “You want to see them die.”  
Her silence was telling._

 

****

 

The flaming shirt wouldn’t last much longer and Sam was still fumbling with the lock-pick. The cloying smell from earlier was back and he felt sick, fear creeping slow up his spine. They were trapped and when the flame went out they would be trapped in the darkness again. Dean still had his lighter but the gas wouldn’t last for long. Nausea gripped him and for the first time in a long, long time he felt vulnerable.

 

“Sammy,” the tone of Dean’s voice was alien; he’d never heard his brother sound like that before and it made everything so much worse. Heart pounding he tried the lock-pick again but nothing happened, the door stayed resolutely closed. He knew then that there was no lock to pick and whatever – whoever – had them in this room had intended this to happen, intended it all along.

 

“I can’t do it,” his voice shook and Dean hissed, dropping the shirt to the floor.  
It went out instantly and they were plunged into pitch black. 

 

“Shit.” He wobbled back straight into Dean and his brother hissed, arm going around him again, fingers resting on his stomach and then furrowing under his jacket and then his shirt so that his brother’s hand was hot against his skin.

 

“Don’t move Sam,” Dean’s voice close to the shell of his ear. “Please don’t move.”

 

“I won’t.” He closed his eyes, foolishly perhaps, against the encroaching blackness. 

 

And they were there, in the dark, clinging together like children waiting for the inevitable.

 

****

 

_“They’ve given up,” she sounded all too triumphant. “They’ve stopped.”_

_“No.” He stared at those faces eerily painted in green luminescence. “No, they’ll find a way.”_

_“How?” She turned to him, face haughty with victory. “There isn’t a way . . . we saw to that.”_

_“What is it with you?” He wanted to smack her gloating face. “Why do you hate them so much?”_

_She was silent, fumbling with levers and switches, listening to the hums and beeps. Before them the Winchester’s were clinging together; the older one with his arms around the younger, hands both buried under his shirt now, head resting on the juncture between neck and shoulder. Then something strange happened and she leaned forward, her mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise. The elder boy was whispering in the younger boy’s ear, and the younger boy visibly relaxed, let his back rest against the other’s body, and slid down to the floor, the older one following. It was a strange and oddly intimate move, and she shivered feeling suddenly, inexplicably, like a voyeur._

 

****

 

When Sam felt Dean tug him down he went; slow and steady, obeying silent orders. He heard a soft swish and he knew that Dean had settled behind him, pulling ever closer, hands on his bare skin, fingers skirting his belly. Sam shuddered. They had done this before, odd times, years in-between. It had started after Stanford. Sam was lost and confused, tormented by visions, the only girl he had ever loved gone in a burst of flame. He’d not been eating or sleeping, months of grief taking its toll on him. Dean had wanted to comfort him but had no idea how. They’d argued, and fought viciously. Then Dean’s hands had been on him, a curl of fist around his cock, an orgasm so fast and fierce it shocked him, sent him down into sleep faster than he’d ever gone. It had been like a dream at first, and he couldn’t believe they’d gone there. Eighteen months later in a motel room at Christmas, pagan gods dead behind them, Dean’s deal in front of them, it had happened again; this time Sam had returned the favor, shaking fingers around Dean, both of them coming before the game had ended.

 

Now Sam knew why his brother was doing this, here in this stinking pitch black room. He knew why Dean was putting his hand over Sam’s fly, knew why he was kissing Sam’s neck and rubbing hard at Sam’s groin. Dean was doing this because he thought they were going to die. Sam should care but, right now, as close to his brother that it was possible to get, he just felt at peace, his mind shutting down and his body responding. He turned into Dean’s embrace and tried to return the favor and then they were lying together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, lips locked in a kiss that was both passionate and desperate. If they were going then they were going down together.

 

****

 

_“Interesting,” the man’s voice was silky smooth with amusement. “Not something I was expecting, but – hey! Are you enjoying this?”_

_His companion was flushed red; fumbling fingers on the console, the green image waving as the two men writhed together. Even though they were fully clothed it was oddly erotic, and not as disturbing as it should be. He was enjoying watching her reaction as much as he was enjoying the ‘show’ and he huffed another laugh as he watched her face grow even more puce._

_“They’re brothers,” her tone was as shocked as her expression. “This is . . . it is. . . .”_

_“Whatever it is, it isn’t what you were expecting. Right?” He pulled at her fingers and watched as the two men seemed to come to completion. The older one’s face was ecstatic, while the younger one looked more at peace than he had ever seen. “This is their way of coping.” He stared at her. “My belief is they think they are going to die, and that isn’t our brief is it? Death was not one of the options.”_

_“I wanted to challenge them,” her voice wavered now and he could see she was losing her conviction. “To see them at their . . . .”_

_“Basest level. Yes, you said, but that was not our brief and I am sick and tired of your behavior. You were given this second chance, and you are about to blow it. Make a mistake now and . . . .” His hand went to his hip, and she shook her head._

_“There is no need for violence.” Competent fingers on the keyboard. “We will go ahead as planned.”_

 

****

 

Sam lay still. His breath clogged in his throat but the cloying smell had been masked by the scent of them together; Dean’s cologne and sweat mixed with his own. He felt calmer, the darkness soothing rather than threatening. Beside him his brother was quiet, his arm still slung over Sam’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke because there was no need for words. Whatever was going to happen they were cool with it, and now, now it was just a matter of waiting.

 

A click, loud and obvious had Dean leap to his feet instantly reaching for the gun in his pocket. Sam stumbled a little slower but his own gun was in his hands without preamble, the both of them back to back pointing the barrel at nothing.

 

“Who’s there?” Dean barked out. “Show yourself you fucking coward.” 

 

The click came again, closer this time and Sam whirled around, pressing his back against Dean’s. He still couldn’t see, not a thing and he closed his eyes; the very action making no difference. 

 

There was another noise then, a thump and a crash. Dean’s gun discharged, a momentary flash breaking through. Sam’s eyes flew open and for a moment he could see a bright column of light as a door had opened.

 

“Sammy!” Dean tugged at his shoulder and they were both running towards the beam of yellow, running fast. For a moment he was scared that it was a trick. That it was something else to test them but, to their utter relief, they got through and, for a glorious minute, they saw each other clearly; pale faces and hopeful eyes, before the lights went out again.

 

****

 

_“Time for phase two.” The man moved smoothly and clicked another button. The brothers came into view again, faces once again luminous green. He nodded, proud of them, recalling how they had stood back to back, guns raised, no fear as they had faced an unknown and, frankly, unseen enemy. Now the stakes were higher and phase two would test them beyond their limits._

_“This will break them,” her voice was smug again; hopeful and he turned cold eyes on her, not wanting to hear or see it._

_“I believe nothing will break them,” he stated and watched, with some delight, as her face fell._

 

****

 

They were in a different room now; smaller somehow with the walls within arm’s reach. The smell had gone again and the scent that permeated his nostrils now was paint, new fresh paint. He reached out his fingers and they met with a damp, sticky surface. He guessed that, if he could see, they would be smeared and he rubbed them together.

 

“Sam,” Dean sounded close and Sam moved towards the sound of his brother’s voice. Abruptly there was a loud swooshing noise and a thump and then he couldn’t move any further. He felt sheer terror rising in his chest and he put out his hands, palms instantly connecting with something solid. He backed up and his back hit the sticky wall. Claustrophobia almost painful in its insistency made him heave and he found himself sinking to his knees, rocking back. 

 

“Sam, what the fuck?”

 

“We’ve been separated,” he was aware of the trembling of his voice. “There is an actual wall between us.”

 

“It’s too damn small in here,” Dean’s own voice shook. “I can barely move. Shit!” There was a thump and another curse. “Fuck! My head,” his brother sounded in pain. “What the actual hell?”

 

Sam had no answer; the scent of paint was making him feel nauseous, the darkness overwhelming him. His head hurt and he could feel his lungs struggling as it got harder and harder to breath. He could smell sulphur, he was sure of it, stinking in his nostrils. That smooth voice in his ear, coaxing, falsely gentle.

“I’m in the cage,” he said it out loud, falling back onto his haunches and burying his head into his hands. “Dean, I’m in the cage.”

 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice, - a trick, it had to be. Dean couldn’t be in the cage with Sam but he’d come to rescue him last time. Shit, shit! He began to drag air into his throat, head beginning to spin. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and his soul was going to be trapped here again. Trapped with Lucifer. “Sammy!”

 

**** 

 

_“You have to get him out of there.” The man grabbed his companion’s hand. “He’s going to die. Look at him, he can’t breathe.”_

_“So? This is meant to be a test, and how they pass this test. At the moment they are failing.”_

_“You need to stop this!” Her companion slammed his hand down on the consol. Lights flickered and the image of the Winchesters still bathed in ghostly green wavered. “This isn’t a test, it is a death sentence.”_

_“They are here to find a way out.”_

_“You haven’t given them a way out. These are not like the other poor saps you’ve spent the last few months testing this place on. You can’t just take these hunters ‘out of the equation’. They are too well known in hunting circles. They are legends.”_

_“They aren’t showing much of their ‘legendary statuses at the moment, are they?”_

_“You have been pumping drugs into the rooms since they got here. You’ve gone above and beyond the brief and I’ve had enough. You are going to stop now.” He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silver handled pistol, eyes cold as he stared at the woman in front of him. “Or I will stop you.”_

_She smiled then; no fear in her eyes._

_“I don’t think so,” she said._

_There was silence broken by one single gunshot and the green image on the screen wavered again as the Winchester’s sought the release that would never come._

 

****

 

He couldn’t bear it; he could hear Lucifer’s laughter, loud and strident, blanking out any other sounds. He knew he was whimpering, trapped alone in the cage but he had to get out, he had to. He lunged forward banging his forehead painfully on the wall in front of him. Pain surged through his body and he began to scrabble at the plaster, nails breaking, blood beginning to drip steady down his fingers.

 

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean’s voice. “You have to stop.”

 

He ignored it; this was just another way for the devil to toy with him. Just another way to break him. He had to get out. He began to bang his head against the wall, pain thrumming through his forehead and neck. He felt sick, the darkness enveloping him. He couldn’t see anything. Not his hand in front of him. Not the blood. Nothing.

 

“Sammy,” His brother’s voice, pained and desperate. 

 

He was trapped here in the cage and he didn’t think he could stand it. He couldn’t go through this again. He fumbled for the back of his jeans and wrapped his shaking fingers around his Glock. Despite his trembling hands he knew his aim would be true and he took a deep breath pointing the barrel at his temple. Billie was gone but he was certain a reaper awaited him. At least there he would get some peace.

 

“Sammy, no!” _fake_ Dean must have heard the click of the gun. “Don’t do it, Sam. Don’t. We’ll get out. I’ll get you out.”

 

He shook his head clearing away the voice; the gun was cool against his hot forehead, the trigger firm under his fingertips. He wasn’t scared of the darkness anymore, he welcomed it and it welcomed him. He took a deep breath and smiled. It was over.

 

****

 

_She saw him lift the gun to his temple; smirking she clicked on her console so that she could look closer. His eyes were wild, pupils wide and bright under the flickering, unnatural green. She turned the camera onto where his brother was, the two of them separated by the single wall she had brought down between them. The older Winchester was banging hard on the plaster but to no avail. She had them now. By God she had them._

_“Stop this now,” there was another voice, female but pitched low and mean. She heard the familiar click of a shotgun being unlocked and then she felt the cold barrel on the tender skin of her neck. “Stop this, or I will kill you.”_

_The woman smacked her lips; unexpected fear made her fingers shake and she wondered if she dare risk it. In front of her the image of Sam Winchester wavered. He was still holding the pistol at his own temple but his hand was vibrating so hard he surely couldn’t, or wouldn’t pull the trigger. She hesitated, one minute – just one more minute and the Winchesters would no longer be a problem._

_“I suggest you do as she says.” Another voice, high classed and clipped. “She will kill you.”_

_She allowed herself to turn slightly, the gun digging into her soft flesh. She could see Ketch now out of the corner of her eye. He was smartly dressed as normal, eyes cold. For a moment she considered and then, without preamble, she leaned forward and touched the console._

 

****

 

The darkness disappeared in a flash of sudden and overly bright light. Dean’s eyes watered and he rubbed at them, unable to see for a moment. There was a whoosh and the wall in front of him vanished as fast as the darkness had. He lunged forward and his hands connected with a hard chest. A clatter and he felt Sam’s pistol hit the floor near his feet. Relief made him sway and he moved his fingers upwards gripping Sam’s broad shoulders and holding them so fucking tight his joints hurt.

 

“Dean?” Sam was sobbing; adrenaline no doubt. He buried his head in the juncture between Dean’s neck and shoulder, a little brother burrowing into the safety of his big brother’s arms.

 

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean dared open his eyes then just so he could see his brother in front of him, safe and whole. Sam’s shirt was hanging off his shoulder where they had ripped it, his nails were torn and bloody and there were marks on his head and face. His jacket was gone and his jeans were almost in tatters, his whole body quaking like a tree in a strong wind. He pulsated so hard Dean could virtually hear his teeth rattling and he stroked his palm over Sam’s back, sweeping up and down his spine, words of comfort pouring from his lips. “I’m here little brother. I’m here.”

 

****

 

_”What the hell were you doing to my sons?” Mary Winchester kept her shotgun on the women’s neck. She turned to Ketch who was standing there, face expressionless, eyes cold on the other woman’s face. “You told me about this place. You and Mick . . . I trusted you, and this? This is what happened?” She gestured to the corpse on the floor, a young man with buzz cut hair and a hole in his chest. “Tell me what is going on here?”_

_“You have to believe me,” Ketch’s voice betrayed his stoic expression. “I knew nothing about this set-up.” He shook his head. “We should have let you kill her the first time around.”_

_Lady Antonia Bevell said nothing; she stood between the two of them, arrogant and unrepentant. Her eyes kept flicking to the monitor and the pictures there. The eerie green was gone, replaced by natural light but she could only feel frustration, she had been so damn close._

_“Yes.” Mary Winchester had faced a lot of monsters in her time but this one human was the worst of all. “You should have.”_

_Ketch didn’t flinch at the sound of the shotgun’s retort._

 

****

 

Mary made coffee with shaking hands; beside her Dean was silent, staring at nothing. Sam was in his room. He hadn’t spoken much since the incident, ignoring both her and Ketch. He’d only just learned to trust, and it was such a waste. She wished she could bring Bevell back to life so she could kill her again. The woman’s bitterness had ruined everything; everything and she still didn’t know why the English bitch had hated them all so much.

 

“How’s Sam?” She had to say something to break the hideous hush. Dean flicked a glance at her and his expression spoke volumes. She closed her mouth and handed him a cup of sweet black coffee. He took it mutely and put it in front of him. He was pale, his freckles standing out against white skin. There were bruises on his knuckles where he had punched the walls but, apart from a few marks here and there, he was pretty much unharmed. “Dean.”

 

“How do you think he is?” Finally he spoke, harsh and angry. It had been over three days since the two brothers had left the bunker to investigate her _zombie_ case. “He’s fucking awesome,” the sarcasm was obvious, the animosity even worse.

 

“I didn’t know, Dean. I swear to you, I didn’t know.”

 

“They kept us in total darkness. They pumped some sort of drug into the room to alter our behaviors. They gave us no chance of getting out. She wanted to fucking kill us, and you say you didn’t know.”

 

“Ketch had no idea either. The younger man that was in with her – he was a new operative just flown in from the UK. Naïve and under the impression that what she was doing was normal. She killed him, Dean - shot him.”

 

“And the teenagers? The ones we went to _investigate_ , what about them?”

 

“I don’t know.” Mary sat down heavily and took a swallow of her own coffee. “I guess they were using them as test subjects.”

 

“So they killed them all just so they could _test us_?” Dean shook his head. “There is no damn way I am working with ‘em now, mom. No way.”

 

“I’m telling you.” She felt an odd desperation. “Ketch knew nothing of this, neither did Mick. The Intel I gave you came direct from them. They had no idea that Bevell had set this entire thing up. They thought she had gone back to England.”

 

Dean’s silence was telling; Mary sighed.

 

“I’m going to check on Sam.”

 

“No way.” Her eldest son rose to his feet. 

 

She shook her head, regret coloring her features. Dean looked at her for the longest of moments and then he got to his feet and stormed out of the room leaving nothing but emptiness behind him.

 

****

 

Sam rolled over and stared at the ceiling; he felt exhausted, worn through but sleep wouldn’t come. He couldn’t bring himself to actually close his eyes, couldn’t face the cloying darkness that haunted his dreams (well nightmares to be frank). He felt sick and ashamed at his behavior. He had tried to kill himself; he’d actually put a gun to his head and wished for death. He shuddered when he thought how close he’d come to pulling the trigger, and he felt his gorge rise, his mouth filling with hot saliva, stomach churning.

 

“Sammy?” Dean came through his door without knocking. His brother looked pale, but whole, and Sam swallowed back bile. He’d already worried Dean enough without adding throwing up to his problems. “Hey.”

 

The bed dipped as Dean sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulder. He wanted badly to just lean in and let Dean take his weight. Let Dean take all of his nightmares away. For a moment he felt like a little child again, and he shook his head, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak.

 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was low, gentle. “You can let it all out.”

 

“No,” he whispered. “I nearly shot myself in there, Dean. I was so fucking scared, terrified. It was worse than being in the cage, either time.”

 

“She was drugging us. Apparently she was using some mind altering substances. They came through the vents and she had mixed them into the paint she used on the walls. You weren’t in control of yourself, Sam. Neither of us were.”

 

He wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better but it obviously gave Dean some comfort so he took it. He pushed himself up and gave his brother a wry smile, tried hard to push the terrifying ordeal away.

 

“Did she watch everything?” His memories of the last few days were patchy; horror and fear coloring most of them, but he hadn’t forgotten what they’d done. He hadn’t forgotten how Dean had _comforted_ him.

 

“Oh yeah.” There was a flush of pink across his brother’s cheekbones. “She watched everything.”

 

“She didn’t film it, did she?”

 

Dean let out an unexpected burst of gruff laughter and he tugged Sam closer, nuzzling his cheek.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“I mean I wouldn’t like mom to see anything.”

 

“Fuck mom!” Dean’s anger was obvious, something he was unable to hide.

 

“She didn’t know, Dean. I mean she killed Toni, she killed a human being in cold blood to save us.”

 

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it wasn’t for mom.” Dean leaned back. He swung his legs around and settled on the bed next to Sam pulling his brother until they were lying flat on their backs, his brother’s head resting on his chest.

 

“She didn’t know, Dean,” Sam’s voice was stronger now and he wanted nothing more than to defend his mom. He’d felt sick at the time. Sick at the thought that Toni Bevell had managed to imprison him again. It had taken a while for it all to sink in, but now it had he was certain his mom had not thrown them to the lions, and he couldn’t let Dean go on hating her like that. They needed all the family they could get. “She didn’t know.”

 

“Yeah – yeah okay.” Dean actually felt Sam relax, felt the tension go out of his body. “I don’t want you sweating on it, Sammy.”

 

He smiled into Dean’s chest; moments like this he felt stupidly small and vulnerable, safe in big brother’s arms. Sure he hadn’t been the _little brother_ for quite some time but that didn’t matter. Dean would always look out for him whether he was 6, 26 or 86 – if they lived that long.

 

“I’m okay,” he said, finally but it wasn’t true and Dean knew it. He had hated losing control like that, hated feeling so frightened, so helpless. He hadn’t been afraid of the dark since he was 9 years old and his dad had put a shotgun in his hands but now, now he was terrified of it.

 

“So Ketch has destroyed any film that the bitch might have made,” Dean’s voice was light and meant to cheer. “There isn’t any record of our indiscretions.” He laughed. “We’re safe from mom, and any porn sites.”

 

“Good.” Sam turned so he could look his brother in the eyes. Dean looked better now, pink beneath the freckles, green eyes sparkling and warm. “Dean,” he swallowed, wondering how to put this. “I-I want more.”

 

“More?”

 

“I don’t just want it when I need comforting, or when you think we’re going to die. It’s fucking clear to me that we are never, ever gonna get _normal_. We can never have that, but at least we can,” he swallowed hard, face flaming, “at least we can have each other.”

 

“Are you channeling Becky?” Dean’s answer made Sam’s chest tighten and hope surged through him. “Y’know? Sam/Dean?”

 

“I guess, that is what I’m doing. I want this, Dean, and I hoped . . . .”

 

His sentence was cut off by his brother’s mouth; Dean kissed him hard and passionate, his hands running over Sam’s waist and hips, his tongue sweeping into Sam’s welcoming mouth, eager fingers plucking at his tee-shirt. Sam laughed delightedly, all terror and worry fading away in an instant. He let Dean undress him, let Dean push him down into the mattress and kiss him senseless.

 

He never thought he could feel like this; trusting a partner so much, knowing their body, knowing what they liked, knowing that they would never, ever hurt you. Dean was over him and inside of him, hands and mouth on his skin. He was insensate with pleasure, back bowing, and mouth open in a groan of pure pleasure. Bright lights exploded before his eyes and Sam saw fireworks.

 

Afterwards they lay quiet and content in their mutual silence. It had grown dark in Sam’s room, but he had no fear of it now. There would always be terror in his life. There would always be monsters, and things that went bump in the dark, and he would never have normal. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was Dean. Dean, who had his back. Dean, who loved him without question. Dean, who was his everything now and forever.

 

Sam had emerged from the darkness into the light and beneath his brother’s scrutiny, he glowed.

 

End


End file.
